


Without You

by ToxicBabes



Series: Tales of Apartment 8H [5]
Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Sex, Longing, M/M, One Shot, Romance, Slight coming out, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24699790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicBabes/pseuds/ToxicBabes
Summary: Maxim overestimates his ability to cope with Timur's absence. Over the six weeks of Timur's assignment in South Africa, Maxim grows to realise he is just as needy as his lover.
Relationships: Maxim "Kapkan" Basuda/Timur "Glaz" Glazkov
Series: Tales of Apartment 8H [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705774
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Without You

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Kapkan version of [Time Moves Slow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23687227) with some other bits and bobs alongside it like Finka and Harry. A song I thought was very fitting for this is Sweet Dreams TN by The Last Shadow Puppets, mostly for the lyrics. Anyways, hope you enjoy this.

Maxim saw it coming from miles away. On the day Timur received the information of his assignment, he told him about it after work and made a note of it on the calendar. Yet time after time again Maxim disregarded the bright red scribble because it was _only_ six weeks, what was the huge deal? Though when the deadline came, the aloofness he held over the entire ordeal gave way to a sudden realisation that he did _not_ want Timur to leave. There was nothing he could do about it other than lay there in morose silence as he listened to the zippers of the suitcase opening. 

Timur sensed his low mood, catching the look on Maxim’s face every time he glanced over, but he didn’t address it. He continued to dig through their drawers and pulled out more shirts, some of them belonging to Maxim, though by now there was little distinction on who owned what. In ways he found cruel amusement in watching Maxim sulk. He made haste packing his bags to grant Maxim the mercy of not watching this separation encroach closer to reality. With the suitcase ready for the coming morning, Timur approached the bed and fell into Maxim’s open arms as he beckoned for him to come close. 

Straddling Maxim’s lap, Timur ran the pads of his fingertips along the length of his rough jawline before capturing his lips into a tender kiss. “Don’t huff,” Timur implored with a light chuckle, looking into the blue gaze he adored. Maxim tried to hold onto the grumpy facade but after several seconds of eye contact, a smile broke through his stony expression. He leaned in to give Timur several desperate pecks, kissing all over his face in an affection that was both needy yet done in humour. “Are you going to miss me?” 

Maxim ran his hands up Timur’s thighs, feeling the firm muscle and hairs before he slid his fingers under the waistband of his underwear. It was tempting to twang it, but he settled for palming Timur’s defined glutes and he relished in how they filled his hands so full just like how Timur’s affections left a swelling emotion of fulfilment in his chest. In response to the question, Maxim hummed affirmatively under his breath and he closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation of Timur’s hands running over his bare chest. 

“Say it,” Timur asked of him and it was impossible to deny those pleading eyes.

Drawing a breath, Maxim looked at him once again and the crease between his brows eased. “I’m going to die without you,” he murmured, a sly grin creeping onto his face when Timur rolled his eyes at the dramatic display. “Of course I’ll miss you. I always do.”

They exchanged fond smiles before Timur reached over to switch off the bedside lamp. It was getting late, he couldn’t afford to stay up in fear of missing his flight. He slipped off his sweatshirt and tossed it aside, substituting the warmth from the fabric with the heat of Maxim’s skin. Under the heavy darkness of the room, Maxim could just make out the contours of Timur’s muscular torso and the mattress dipped when he shifted to find a comfortable position. It was going to be hard to get used to falling asleep without the weight of Timur’s body pressing against him. There would be nowhere to occupy his hands with the soft fuzz of Timur’s buzz cut or the security of his waistband keeping Maxim’s palm wedged against his hip.

For a while Rainbow had been embarking on various training campaigns in conjunction with other CTUs around the world, sharing their expertise and resources in hopes to find potential candidates or learn new methods to train recruits. Maxim had his assignment in Germany with several other colleagues to give a course on hostage situations, whether that be extraction or negotiation. This time around, Rainbow’s finest marksmen were being shipped off to South Africa. 

Maxim lost him in the early hours of the morning. The rustle of the bedsheets had him stirring momentarily before he lapsed back into his dreams again, undisturbed by the light pattering of Timur’s careful steps around their room. A hand palming his cheek had him blinking awake once more and he tried to focus on the dark silhouette leaning over him. He grasped to feel Timur’s wrist.

“I’m leaving now,” Timur told him and he pressed a firm kiss onto his forehead, avoiding Maxim’s dreadful case of morning breath. Though once he took in the older man’s sleepy expression, Timur kissed him to feel his chapped lips one last time. “Hey, I love you.” 

It happened within a blink of the eye. Maxim only managed to mumble something along the lines of “Yeah, love you too,” before the warmth of Timur’s palm left his cheek. The suitcase made a racket rolling across the hardwood floor, but once Timur closed the door behind him, a silence shrouded over the cosy darkness of the bedroom and Maxim didn’t take long to fall back asleep.

It didn’t occur to him that this was the exact point in which Timur would be absent from him for six weeks. With his day off allowing him to sleep through the morning and comfortably into the afternoon, Maxim blinked awake to find the clock striking one. Sprawled across the entire span of their bed, he strained his ears to listen for the murmur of the television from the living room, but all he could pick up was the ambient noise of the apartment building. Water rushing down the pipes, doors thudding shut, someone’s dog barking despite this place being explicitly pet-free. No sound of Timur though. 

Gone, remember? Maxim sat up and ran a hand through his hair then against his cheek where his stubble was overdue for a shave. He took wobbly steps towards the window and pried open the thick curtains to allow light in. To his horror, the suitcase was missing and he wasn’t sure what he expected. It hadn’t settled in yet. As usual, Maxim went about his day and didn’t think too much of the assignment. That was until he was standing over his morning cup of coffee. 

From witnessing it happen once, Maxim had a revelation as to why the coffee Timur made for him always tasted different- _off_ but pleasant. He cursed himself for not being able to realise it, but the day he woke up ten minutes earlier than usual and he spotted Timur slipping in a teaspoon of sugar into his mug, everything made sense. Every detail connected like a chain reaction and Maxim had to retreat back into their bedroom, smiling into himself at the simplicity of the answer as to why Timur’s coffee was the best coffee. 

For a majority of his life, Maxim took his coffee completely black and scoffed when Timur supplemented his own with sugar and milk. Though after this small epiphany, he came to a reluctant acceptance that he liked it better sweet. Yet he stood and peered down at his troubled reflection in his stained mug, contemplating over this action as if it was a mortal sin. Regardless, he was going to hell anyways so Maxim ignored his natural instincts and stirred in a spoonful of sugar. Palming the hot ceramic, he leaned his back into the counter and mourned his actions, imagining his colleagues taking the piss out of him should they ever witness him doing such a thing in the workplace. 

He took a sip once the beverage cooled enough and questioned whether the sweet taste was because he put too much in or if it was a matter of being completely conscious of his actions. Most mornings he accepted the coffee without thinking twice and drank it on the balcony as he smoked his first cigarette. That ritual was often the most peaceful part of his days. Yet now Maxim was in a strange conflict with himself and he realised for the coming weeks he would be agonisingly aware of everything being slightly wrong. 

It seemed that once Timur was gone, Maxim became plagued with the thought that pushed him to _find_ something to do to pass the time even though these motions would have come naturally to him either way. This odd fixation on occupying himself with productivity was to distract himself whether that was at work or at home. Although the second his phone rang or vibrated with a notification, Maxim put down whatever he was doing to check it, to make sure it wasn’t Timur seeking him out. When it was, he devoted that part of his day to him. It was hard to find the time to chat, this assignment had Timur busier than ever. 

The simple act of seeing his face through video chat was enough to brighten Maxim’s mood. Although today he sensed a slight upset marring Timur’s expression and he considered asking about it but the courage never came to him. Perhaps he was tired or it was the typical stress of work getting to him, Timur requested to hear Maxim’s voice for a while to calm his thoughts. Keen to deliver, Maxim found himself pacing their apartment as they chatted and he spoke about his day for a while before he ran out of words to say. It was difficult to make routine sound any different than usual. The only thing interesting to happen to him was witnessing a fist fight between recruits in which Maxim watched amusedly while Gilles was quick to run from across the field to stop the battle. He prided himself on his impression of the Frenchman and hearing Timur’s laughter gave him the world’s greatest feeling of triumph. 

“The plant I got you is blooming again,” Maxim mentioned and presented it to the camera, holding the pot to the window where his phone could pick it up more clearly. 

“When I’m home, it wilts. When I’m gone, it flowers. It hates me,” Timur pointed out with feigned glumness. The crease between his brows eased the more they talked and he laid on the bed in his dorms with a hand behind his head, basking in the afternoon sun and the angle gave Maxim an eyeful of his bicep, the contours of his muscular arm. 

“No, you just water it too much. You need to leave it alone,” Maxim told him and he continued on his journey around their apartment before he decided he would try to enjoy the sun alongside him too. The balcony was cool but he didn’t mind the chill and pressed his back against the icy metal of the garden chair. “Sometimes you need to care less.” 

“That’s deep.”

He propped his phone up to free his hands to light a cigarette. The clouds gave way, allowing sunlight to wash along his bare torso and this weather would be perfect for a beer. Turning his gaze back to his phone screen, he caught Timur admiring and they exchanged flustered grins. 

“I can’t wait to come home,” Timur mentioned for the third time. It was the only thing he could think of to say. “Or I wish you were here. It’s so beautiful and the weather is nice, you’d _love_ it. It’s always so sunny.” 

The bridge of his nose was a rosy colour, his cheeks flushed and Maxim wondered if his scalp prickled under the intense sunshine. The heat never failed to make him lethargic and Timur chose to melt under the window instead of seeking shade. The trouble was, this time Maxim wasn’t there to help slather him from head to toe in aloe vera gel. Maybe he could seek help from Sébastien to get his back, although that would be an awkward conversation to have. 

Maxim sucked on his gums as he humoured himself with a thought. “Tell Harry we need each other for emotional support,” he joked and received a smile at the mere imagination of how that would pan out. However both of them did wish they had more assignments abroad together outside of missions. It would be nice to go sightseeing without the wistful desire of having one another there to experience it too. 

Being several hours ahead, the evening approached faster for Timur. At five o’clock, someone entered his room, calling him away. “We’re going out for dinner tonight,” Timur told him as he stood to find his cap. “I’ll text you later. Love you, alright?” 

“I love you, eat well.” With that, another afternoon gone. Maxim shut off his phone and finished his cigarette, wondering if his colleagues would be able to recognise it when they spoke in such frank, open intimacy. He preferred no one to find out, but he had an inkling that even if someone found out, nothing drastic would ever happen. Amongst Rainbow, everyone held a degree of respect for one another no matter how deeply they disliked each other and neither of them made enemies here.

It was uncertain if they would chat again later on or if Timur would exchange a couple words across text messages. Maxim wasn’t used to being the available one, incessantly checking his phone at every buzz or being the one sending entertaining images and blowing up Timur’s phone with notifications. 

There was nothing else to do, no one close by to talk to. Maxim looked for something to occupy himself as he waited for time to pass. The Netflix library didn’t entice him and he found the sofa uncomfortable after an hour of lounging on it. Too soft and lumpy, plus no firm lap to rest his head upon in wait of a scalp massage that would bring him sheer bliss. At a loss, he got up in fervent agitation and made his fifth journey to the fridge for more beer. 

Can in hand, he stepped into the bathroom, bare feet against the tiles he mopped a couple hours ago. It was unusual for the apartment to be so spotless. Hell, the bathroom was sterile. Maxim set the beer down then plugged the tub and turned the tap on. Thunderous crashing of water drowned out the repeated notion that he was bored out of his wits. 

He turned his gaze to the mirror and touched his face again, frowning at his stubble. Should he grow a beard while Timur wasn’t there to poke fun at him for its patchiness? Maxim sneered at his own expression. Now wasn’t the time to allow his inner caveman to emerge. Perhaps in four weeks’ time for when he would truly lose his mind. As the tub filled from the weak faucet, he ran the electric shaver over his face a couple times to clean up his appearance, restoring the usual shadow. 

On the topic of the apartment being spotless, one thing Maxim noticed was that he didn’t have to clean up Timur’s shavings every morning. The younger man kept himself groomed well, maintained his facial hair but seemed to be incapable of not making a mess of it when he trimmed his beard. The sink didn’t have the dark specks of the occasional hairs left behind around the basin. He didn’t have to shakedown the entire bathroom looking for the toothpaste cap which Timur conveniently lost. 

Life was too pristine now. Scrubbed clean of any defining feature into one unvaried routine. There was no one around to mess up the place and Maxim was far too habitual to allow anything to fall out of place. Soon enough there was little need to do chores so often and he had nothing to do at all. 

The water stung his skin as he stepped into the tub. For the longest time he always saw baths as marinating in one’s own filth and it took a hefty amount of convincing before Timur managed to pull him in one evening. Maxim didn’t think he would do it out of his own accord, but the desire struck himself so suddenly, compelling him to indulge himself in this comforting act. 

The heat of the water was on the verge of being uncomfortable, but this was how he liked it best. He took a breath then submerged himself under the water, allowing the warmth to embrace him whole for a minute. A minute of silence. Actual silence, no chatter in his head, not a single thought drifting by until the light asphyxiation tickled his mind and he held the instinct to go up, prolonging this strange stasis. The tension in his body began to dispel and he tried to release any burdening thoughts. 

He picked up the muffled vibrations of his phone. Surfacing right away, he sucked in a gasp of air and wiped the water from his eyes, pushed back the hair clinging to his face before he answered the call. 

“Hey. What’s up?” Maxim set the phone on speaker and reached for his cool beer. He took a long swig, hoping it could steady his breaths.

“Nothing much. You sound _alarmed_ ,” Timur commented with a hint of curiosity. “What are you doing?” 

“Relaxing.” It wasn’t a lie but not the entire truth. He went in for another sip but the slippery can slid from his palm, he scrambled to grasp it and agitated the water enough to make a sloshing noise. “Uh, taking a bath,” he went on to admit, feeling as if he was confessing to a grievous sin. 

Down the line, Timur gave a soft chuckle but he didn’t tease him about it. “Right, so we went out for dinner and at this restaurant…”

* * *

  
  


As the second week passed, Maxim found solace in the presence of friends. It wasn’t the same but he spent several evenings with the rest of the Spetsnaz, whether that be dinner with them or socialising at the pub. Though the squad became fragmented after Alexsandr left for his assignment, leaving only the two of them behind. The rest of Rainbow banded together and in the absence of their closest friends, they kept themselves busy with whatever they could get their hands on. Days spent using the resources of research and development to build crappy robots, experimenting with new gadgets, somehow finding new ways to make things explode.

In these times, everyone made do with what they could get their hands on. Given the wide range of different cultures and language barriers at Rainbow, it wasn’t a surprise some operators were most comfortable socialising with colleagues from their own countries. Maxim had no issue with communication, but for him it came down to how others navigated around his demeanour. In the past, Timur suggested he should smile more to at least come across as approachable, but it wasn’t like Maxim at all to be artificial. 

He made a few friends here and there, mostly buddies to drink with or someone to chat to over a cigarette. Though these people he liked to keep at a comfortable distance, close enough to be familiar with them but not allowing them to see into his private life. It wasn’t hard and it certainly helped that Maxim preferred to listen than talk. In the space of learning about James Porter’s entire life story, Maxim only managed to let it slip that he had two brothers. 

He regarded his colleagues to be decent people of good merit, yet it was difficult for him to consider them truly friends. There was a degree of trust which Maxim did not give out readily, not even to his Russian counterparts who proved time and time again to care for him. Being a closed book, to Maxim, was perfectly fine. He had Timur to question all his peculiarities. Though with this situation and him away, Maxim loathed this solitude and he wished there was someone out there who could be a listening ear to his dilemma. Anyone who he could trust to keep this secret of his, and _understand_ the frustration of yearning for someone else. 

As much as he liked to deny it, Maxim was a needy man both physically and emotionally. With every day creeping by, the desperation within his heart intensified. There was no release to it, so the hurt of missing Timur’s presence builded up in every inch of Maxim’s soul and there was no way he could satisfy his hunger to feel a body against his own. Maxim’s imagination only went so far and he only had a couple obscene images saved on his phone, but nothing too scandalous. 

Upon each call, it was painfully clear both of them were missing one another, but they rarely addressed it until a lingering silence prompted it. Sometimes it felt better to distract themselves with an interesting story, though listening to Timur tell him all about the conservation work and environmental protection projects the locals set up, it made Maxim wish he was there to experience it alongside him. 

Another pause settled between them and Maxim took a drag of his cigarette, enjoying the chill of the night breeze against his bare skin. The metal chair pressed into every uncomfortable spot in his back, by now he had grown accustomed to it. The soft rustle of Timur’s bedsheets came through the line and Maxim could almost feel the warmth of his muscular body, the way his gentle exhales ghosted over Maxim’s chest where he always nestled his face. Though Timur was nowhere close, sprawled out somewhere on a thin mattress in a tiny dormitory, nursing his sunburn and sore feet.

“What are you wearing?” Maxim asked when the pause continued long enough for their previous conversation to be lost into the night. By now he was slightly tipsy and the thoughts he had restrained at the back of his mind were getting antsy. 

At first, Timur laughed at the flirtatious question. “Clothes, Maxim,” he answered in a dry tone, though had it not been for the circumstances of his room arrangement, he would’ve gladly engaged in the exchange. “What about you? _Are_ you wearing anything?”

“Those red boxers you got for me on my birthday,” Maxim said and then he promptly added. “Just that.” 

“You should show me later,” came the suggestion to which Maxim wasn’t completely opposed to the thought. “I sent you something last night, you saw it right?” 

Maxim hummed under his breath, continuing to run his fingers through his hair and he closed his eyes. “Yeah, it was hot.” He allowed his mind to trail some more. “Made me realise how much I miss your body… your smell, you sucking me off- Christ, Timur, I’ve been thinking about you every day. Everything about you. I want you.”

The cigarette singed down to the filter and in frustrated agitation he stubbed it out. Timur could only offer a sympathetic chuckle. “Nothing compares, does it?” He asked, seeming to understand this affliction just as well. “Well, think of me tonight. I’ll be home before you know it.”

It was getting late and as the night drew closer, the temperatures continued to drop. Maxim returned indoors shortly after they said their usual farewells of professing love to one another, wishing a good night’s sleep and the playful back-and-forth of goodbyes to mask the fact that they simply didn’t want to hang up. 

* * *

The chatter of the pub provided a comfortable backdrop for Maxim to rest his mind, just for a brief moment. It wasn’t any other day out of the ordinary, but when James invited him to the pub, Maxim didn’t see why not. As much as he wanted to sit alone at home, staring holes into his phone screen in wait of a call, he knew he had to detach himself from this obsession. He left a message stating he would be out for a drink, to which Timur said he’d have an early night as well and he told Maxim to enjoy himself. 

With another regular evening, nothing spectacular happened outside of the occasional hooligan getting into a scrap. The usuals, which included Maxim’s colleagues, were far too worn for any antics. At the end of the day, they desired a pint to fill their hearts. There wasn’t a whole lot of talking going on, but in ways the silence was meaningful. They enjoyed the presence of one another. 

A playful smile flirted at Dominic’s expression as he glanced across the table, scanning from Maxim, to Lera, then finally James. He turned his pack of cigarettes several times in his hand, allowing each side to thump against the table’s surface and he chewed his tongue in thought. “So, what’s up with you?” He addressed Maxim, his brows furrowing in an infectious curiosity that took over everyone at the table. “You’re _miserable._ ” 

To deflect the question, Maxim grinned back and took a long sip from his pint. “You say that like it’s new,” he said. 

The statement awakened a warm memory in James. “‘Oi, Basuda! Quit your moping about and get your arse in gear-‘ Mike really had it in for you this morning, didn’t he? You couldn’t slip away,” he recalled and he gave Maxim a teasing nudge. “I know what’s the matter. A woman, isn’t it? I know love when I see it.”

Exasperated, Maxim didn’t answer and looked elsewhere, finding his gaze meeting with Lera’s face and she gave him an amused smile. She was questioning his change of mood too. Though before he was pressured into answering, Dominic scoffed. “You don’t know love, Porter,” he muttered with a playful sneer. 

“More than you do.” James held up his left hand to show he sported a tan line on his ring finger where his wedding band once was. “Hey, I never told you guys about my divorce, did I?”

It wasn’t hard to slip away from that confrontation. Maxim laid low and listened to the story, but at the back of his mind he was aware that others did notice his glumness over the whole ordeal and he made conscious effort not to show it. Though with the days passing slower, it was difficult to keep his morale high. Unlike Timur’s constant busyness in South Africa, downtime in England gave just enough peace for Maxim to contemplate over everything that came to mind. 

When he thought he was truly alone, Lera reminded him he still had a friend who had his back. She allowed herself to relax once in a while, but through their entire time of knowing each other, Maxim had never seen her an inch beyond being tipsy and he never would. They stepped out of the pub together just shy of eleven o’clock. Maxim was teetering on the brink of losing his balance and feeling confident he was fine, so Lera put an arm around his shoulders just to be sure. She didn’t want to risk being responsible for Maxim fracturing his skull on the sidewalk.

Part of him felt foolish for being the one having to be walked home, but he was glad for the company. At some point they made the mutual agreement to grab a kebab. It was one of those nights where they let all standards slip, allowing themselves to enjoy a greasy meal that would normally make them feel horrible afterwards. They settled on a park bench and Maxim channeled a primal aspect of his brain as he ate with his hands, cherishing the greasy chips. 

“Have you really been okay?” Lera asked, looking up at him. She chewed her food and furrowed her brows upwards in question, though in a manner that told him she meant no harm, only concern for his well-being. “You’ve been pretty down since Timur left.”

Maxim shrugged it off out of instinct. “It’s nothing. I miss having someone to talk to, that’s all,” he answered, restraining himself from pouring his heart out with the fact that he loved this man with every inch of his soul and that it pained him greatly to slave through more weeks by himself. 

Their eyes met again. Something within Lera’s eyes told him she was safe to talk to, yet he didn’t dare trust his judgement. “So it is Timur? You do miss him.” The tone in her voice implied it was more than simply missing. It was yearning, one which had a distinct kind of sorrow that stemmed from being completely helpless over the situation. Being the one waiting for someone to come home. She understood his muted responses.

A crack bloomed in Maxim’s steel facade. He cleared his throat and held his composure by its threads, left a wavering mess by the alcohol fogging his mind. Although he couldn’t hold it, he didn’t fall apart as he feared when he let go. “I miss him everyday,” he found himself confessing, the words escaping from him before he was even aware of what he said. Admitting it brought an aching sensation in his chest, though he had let go of this terrible burden upon his shoulders and the relief of saying this aloud was calming.

Lera’s expression did not show any questioning of his statement, she didn’t need to clarify for further details on what he meant by his quiet admission of love towards Timur. Perhaps she already knew. “I can tell.” Her hand clasped over his firm shoulder and gave a squeeze in reassurance. “I’m sure he misses you too.”

A wistful silence overtook them, but it was the comfortable kind best shared with a friend. Maxim finished the rest of his kebab without saying any more, hoping the meal could sober him up or distract him from the returning thoughts of his lover, but it failed to do any of that and left him feeling sickly. He rose to his feet and wobbled, staggering several feet before Lera took him by the arm and they continued the journey home. 

Had Maxim been any more coherent, he could have told Lera what was on his mind. He could have explained why Timur was so important to him, how this one man alone could send him spiralling into a state of despair. Yet, he didn’t. He kept it to himself and over time, the weariness settled in his body made it difficult to think. 

He didn’t recall how they arrived at the doorstep of his apartment, though Lera took the keys and brought him inside, letting out a sigh of relief. She entered Timur’s small office, only to figure out the other room opposite of the bathroom must be the bedroom. The secret was out now. It didn’t take much for anyone to decipher Maxim’s relationship to Timur with this knowledge. 

Hands wrestled his shoes off before hoisting his body fully on the bed. It was like moving a corpse and Lera struggled with the deadweight. She put her hands on her hips and grimaced at the sight of Maxim sprawled out on the king size mattress, then she pulled him to lay on his side as a precaution.

“I’ll be going now. Get some sleep, Maxim,” she spoke in a gentle tone. Her gaze lingered on the miserable man for a moment longer, taking pity on him when he gave a garbled murmur of gratitude.

One apparent aspect of aging that struck Maxim was the fact that his body wasn’t able to handle the excessive drinking as he was once used to. There were numerous factors coming into play, one being the fact that he was brushing his forties, years of unhealthy habits taking a toll on his liver, getting _shot_ there several years back didn’t help either. The following hangover was the worst he had experienced in years. 

Cold tile pressed against his cheek when he woke up in the heart of the afternoon. He didn’t remember how he managed to get from his own bed to the floor of the kitchen, but lying on the ground for so long left every joint and muscle in his body aching as he moved. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he squinted at the bright light coming through the balcony door. 

Broken glass glimmered under the sun, the water having evaporated hours ago. Upon inspecting himself, Maxim discovered an ugly gash down the length of his right forearm, remnants of his own blood dried on the cupboard handle. He recreated this scene, assuming he must have gotten up for some water, fallen and dropped the glass as a reflex to the injury on his arm. 

The tension gathered at the base of his neck intensified as he stood, the pounding pain in his head driving deeper. He touched a hand to his temple, swearing at himself for disregarding his limits. A quick aspirin later, he set off to clean up his mess and made sure to check over the floor several times for any remaining shards of glass. Though just as he thought that was all, he discovered a puddle of vomit on the bathroom floor where he didn’t make it in time. 

By the time he got himself sorted, the clock struck four. Showered and able to withstand his nausea, Maxim tucked himself into a blanket on the sofa and checked his phone. To his luck, Timur was free to have a chat.

“How are you feeling?” Timur asked first thing as if he knew the state he was in. 

Maxim tried to sound as usual, but he couldn’t find the energy to speak beyond a sickly croak. “Like shit,” he answered truthfully and accepted the humiliation of being laughed at. Had Timur been here, he would have pressed a gentle kiss against Maxim’s temple to smooth his throbbing headache. 

“You know, you called me at like three in the morning,” Timur told him with no animosity in the tone of his voice, though that didn’t stop Maxim from feeling horrible over his actions. Work was tough on Timur, he didn’t have the luxuries of sleeping long nights followed by relaxed work days during downtime. “You were pissed beyond your mind, but you were so sweet to me. You said all kinds of things.”

With no recollection of this, Maxim figured it happened sometime when he got out of bed for that glass of water. “I’m always sweet to you,” he murmured back and prayed Timur wouldn’t quote what he said. “By the way…” He didn’t know any better way than to put it bluntly. This wasn’t a matter he wanted to hide and he wanted Timur to be aware of it. “Lera probably knows about us. She walked me home, said some things, then she saw the apartment.”

A pause settled between them where Timur took the time to think. “You can trust her. She’s an understanding person.”

* * *

  
  


“Upon reviewing our previous meeting, I remembered an old conversation we had.” 

Sessions with Harry were always an intricate dance of how effectively Maxim was able to evade questions and omit as many details as possible. The ironic side of it was that the purpose of these meetings were for Harry to further understand the operators of Rainbow, yet the consensus Maxim gathered from everyone he spoke to was that no one was ever truly comfortable with being transparent to their boss. 

Today they chose to sit outside. The property Harry owned was maintained well, the garden was a quaint area with plenty of vegetation to provide adequate cover and Maxim enjoyed the nature. He palmed his mug of tea and drew his gaze towards Harry, conscious not to look too disinterested.

“You made a comparison on your approach in life, how it is similar to the social nature of wolves- that is, to work as a team and raise the young- as a pack.” Harry studied him under a watchful gaze, pausing for a second until Maxim nodded to indicate he recalled it too. “And then I mentioned perhaps you’re still in search of ‘a pack’, you laughed at that. I’m still curious about it, if you’d like to tell me.”

“I’ve found it,” Maxim answered, deciding to play along with the analogy. A continued silence prompted him to elaborate as Harry’s fingers twitched to uncap his pen. “Here. With Rainbow, the work we do as a team… I’ve met some great people here and training recruits, whether here or in other countries, _this_ is my pack, I suppose.”

It wasn’t necessary for Harry to document his response immediately. He made meticulous transcriptions of their meetings afterwards through the audio recorder resting on the table. Although, occasionally there would be a sudden thought crossing his mind that he needed to note and Maxim always wondered what he wrote in that notebook of his, what about his answers would provoke such ideas. 

“And these connections you’ve formed, would you say they’re lasting? When you talk about a pack, I tend to think of it in a family sense- after all, I am a father myself. However, from what you’ve told me, I gather we are quite different people,” Harry exchanged, an intrigued smile playing at his lips as he squinted his eyes in concentration. 

Maxim took the time to think about the question. Their meetings were often like this, though Harry reassured him numerous times he didn’t mind the quietness. In fact, he encouraged it. A face continued to crop up in Maxim’s head. Timur Glazkov, teammate and lover, his other half. “I can see myself keeping in touch with a lot of my colleagues in the future regardless of where we go,” he said. 

When it came to digging for answers, Harry had a way of weaving between the cracks through open-ended questions, but sometimes he opted for a more direct approach. “I meant to ask, do you feel as if you’ve made personal connections here, or are they merely professional?” He fidgeted with his pen as he contemplated how to unpack the question in hopes it would encourage more discussion. “I understand it’s unusual of me to ask, but when it comes to these meetings I enjoy getting to know everyone as a person. When we first met, I gained the impression that you’re quite content being by yourself, but after you mentioned your desire for making an impact and the fulfillment you find in mentoring other soldiers, I became more intrigued about who you are, your aspirations with your personal life too.”

Maxim wasn’t sure what Harry wanted to hear. He took a sip of his tea and watched a small colony of ants crawl between the cracks of the concrete ground. “Personal life?” He mused and let out a soft huff to humour him. “Well, things have changed. I’ve made _personal_ connections alongside my career. Let someone into my life, I guess you could say.”

It was difficult to tell if the smile on Harry’s face was out of happiness for this development or if it was glee from striking a pleasing answer. “And comparing your history of solitude to being with this person,” he addressed, speaking with a slight caution over the language he used. There were no assumptions made and Maxim questioned if it was intentional. “How has it benefited you?”

This reflection didn’t bring the heartache Maxim expected, though after five weeks of brooding over Timur’s absence, he became numb to it. To think of Timur in a positive manner was a refreshing change for once. “I’m happier. A lot happier.” He restrained himself from revealing too much. There were a million things he could say about their relationship and how it brought about great changes in his life, or even the minor things like having someone to sit with in silence. “I have something to look forward to outside of work too, it keeps me busy in a good way.”

With all his thoughts unpacked, there was a lingering anxiety at the back of his mind that told him there was something unusual about the tranquility of his personal life. For the first time in years, there was something pleasant about his life outside of his career. That wasn’t to say he spent his free evenings tormented by his own presence before meeting Timur. There were the occasional times when he enjoyed a week in the wilderness, though once he returned to the urban cityscape, he spent his nights mindlessly watching television, waiting for time to pass. Just like he was now, going through the motions as he once did in wait of the day Timur would return.

The short responses told Harry it would take many more sessions before Maxim would be comfortable with revealing anymore. Sensing this topic was uncomfortable, he moved on. “And with work... From my observations you mostly stick to your teammates that you’re familiar with, you’re quite close with Glazkov. Now that half the team is away on assignments, how do you feel about it? Are you interacting with other colleagues more?”

“More than usual, we’ve been out for drinks which I don’t do often, but with everyone else away, there’s only a handful of people I can be around,” Maxim said, pondering about it. “I do miss Glazkov for sure, he’s a good friend. Though we all have work to do so... the best I can do is wait for him to come back.”

When it came to the professional environment, Maxim was always conscious to speak of Timur in a muted manner. Regardless of what risks or consequences were present, he didn’t want either of them to be placed in a precarious situation. Maxim sensed Harry unveiled their secret long ago, he had a strange way of weaseling his way into getting the information he wanted out of people, but he didn’t want to take any risks.

The percussive tap-tap-tap of the pen against paper, motions churning out thoughts and mapping a way to approach the next topic he wanted to unravel. “I assume Glazkov is one of the personal connections you’ve made here. How would you describe your friendship with him?” He asked.

One realisation Maxim had as he sat here was that they never discussed their sessions with Harry. There was nothing to worry about, as these meetings were explicitly confidential so any compromising details would never be revealed. The more he thought about it, it did not come as a surprise if Harry figured this out from Timur. For a guy who could be as expressive and enthusiastic as he was in a one-on-one conversation, it could lead to driving himself into a corner with no way to evade a carefully-constructed question striking the sensitive topic of their relationship.

“We’re close. He’s definitely one of my best friends.” It was impossible not to notice Harry writing down his answer, making a clear note of it to highlight to himself later. Maxim chewed on his cheek before helping himself to a biscuit from the pack on the table. “Stories don’t match?”

Harry let out a small chuckle and shook his head. “Well, I’m not at any liberty to discuss Glazkov’s sessions, it’s all confidential. You’ll have to take it up with him,” he said. “I just enjoy noting the disparities in answers, it reveals a little about yourself, your personality.”

“And what would that be?” 

“You’re quite closed off. Guarded, if I’m to be honest, although I do see why, given your history and background. I do hope you’re able to open up to me some more in the future. Like I said, everything you say here is private,” Harry reassured him. “And I understand it isn’t easy, not everyone is completely comfortable with it at first, but some people talk to me about their spouse, their pets, things completely unrelated to the job. It helps me connect with them and understand them better, and for them, it gives them catharsis to talk about these small things with someone.” 

Maxim nodded. This reservation permeated through his entire life, the sour taste on all his relationships and he was trying to work on it. Emotions were often grossly intimate, to be avoided at all cost, though as he delved into his relationship with Timur these terms began to change. Upon reflection he grew to appreciate what they had a little more. 

“Maybe one day,” he considered in deep thought.

Harry returned his contemplation with an amicable smile. “One step at a time,” he agreed.

* * *

After sporting an attempt at a beard for the past weeks, Maxim trimmed it all down on the day Timur would return home. He cleaned himself up and his colleagues were first to notice when he arrived at work with something other than a frown on his face. The fact that _the_ Maxim Basuda was in a decent mood came as a surprise, even roused suspicion. He brushed off most of the comments pointing out the slight smile on his face and the teasings from James that he’d finally gotten rid of _that_ beard. Though when it came to Lera, there was no hiding and she knew the reason behind his joy.

She approached him during his lunch break, stepping out onto the small walkway by the canteen where there were a few tables. Their eyes met and Maxim took the last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray. He gestured for her to sit and she slid onto the bench across from him with a mug of hot coffee.

“Finally, hm?” She let out a sigh of relief and sipped from her cup. It wasn’t out of the usual for there to be a hint of fatigue on her expression, though Maxim sensed this was a different kind of weariness eating away at her. He hummed in agreement. “Six weeks of everything building up inside… it can drive anyone crazy.”

“Waiting for someone to come home?” Maxim questioned as he fidgeted with his pack of cigarettes. Lera nodded and they shared a short silence in deep thought, yearnings for a lover growing with intensity as the minutes passed and the evening could not come any slower. Maxim raised his mug of coffee as if it was a pint of beer. “Here’s to surviving all this time.”

They clinked their mugs and revitalised their exhausted minds with the caffeine. The following night looked to be a reward for waiting so long, although Maxim didn’t care for what they did. As long as he could hold Timur in his arms and have a night’s rest with him by his side, that was enough. 

Between the text notifying him the plane would be taking off soon and the one stating Timur landed safely, Maxim made his way to the airport with his heart in his throat. Never in years had he been so consumed by anticipation towards another person, yet here he was, having all kinds of ridiculously anxious thoughts that were borderline irrational. His eyes flicked between the time on the dash to the distant glow of the red traffic light. Was he going to be late?

Traffic was rough during the rush hour. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel and sucked a deep breath to calm himself over the wailing of car horns in the background. He shifted restlessly, aware of the seat belt cutting into the side of his throat and the passage of time itself which had been absent from all senses for an eternity. Seeing as he wasn’t going to move anytime soon, he thumbed in a message to tell Timur he was going to be late.

Excitement fizzled in Maxim’s fingertips, a desperate energy consumed his entire being. The light spittle from outside soaked into the sleeve of his jacket where he rested his arm against the open window, conscious not to get the entire car stinking of smoke. He took a long drag and turned his attention to distance where a sea of red lights glowed in his peripheral vision. The helplessness of sitting in a confined metal box, unable to do anything to the feelings of urgency ricocheting around his head, Maxim hadn’t been so stressed out in months until now. 

He needed Timur. Timur’s scent, Timur’s body, Timur’s laugh. The dulcet hum of his playlist in the car, the warmth he brought by just being present. How his lips grazed against Maxim’s skin with a directness that was still gentle, loving every inch of the older man as if his existence was the greatest thing in this universe and the pouring affections spoken so ardently to make Maxim’s soul flush red hot. He wanted to run his palms over Timur’s hair, against the softness of his buzzcut and watch his expression relax at the scalp massage. To grasp a handful of those thick thighs he adored so much, to be enveloped within muscular arms and feel the security of Timur’s body weight pressing him into the mattress. The simplest yet most profound pleasures in life.

At eight o’clock with the rain growing heavier, there weren’t many people wandering around and those who were outside moved quickly to find shelter. Maxim made several laps around the car park in search for a closer spot, eventually settling for a space further away from where they would meet. He pulled his hood over his head and stepped into the icy showers, monitoring his illuminated phone screen for any updates as he made haste towards the arrivals. 

From a distance he recognised Timur’s hoodie, the one with the colours of their national flag. Their eyes met and without question Maxim quickened his pace until it was shy of a light jog. His heart thrummed harder in his chest, every coherent thought melted into a continuous chime alerting him that Timur Glazkov was fifty- forty- thirty feet away. Part of him wanted to sprint, but before he had even processed the thought, they met midway and Timur’s embrace knocked the air from his lungs. 

It was a rib-crushing hug, the kind where fists clenched and grasped at the fabric of clothes, faces buried where they could to hide any expression of desperation and longing. Torrential emotions flooded Maxim to the brim and he squeezed his eyes shut, cherishing the heat of Timur’s skin and the firmness of his formidable body. In return, Timur did not let go and took in lungfuls of the cigarette smoke clinging to Maxim’s jacket, familiarising himself with the stench he grew to love. 

They pulled away momentarily to look at one another and Maxim noted the sunburn along his cheeks and nose bridge, almost stunned in this surreal moment that he was truly looking at Timur in person, not through his phone screen. Maxim caressed his hair in an endearing manner, smiling at the way it refused to lay flat in this awkward stage of growth. 

“Your hair is so long now,” he commented, the first words he spoke as if they were just kicking off another conversation like usual. Although another passing silence gave way to no other thought and he spoke it. “I missed you so fucking much.”

Timur nodded back, overcome with emotion to the point of biting it back, sinking teeth into his inner cheek to stop himself from crumbling apart. “It’s been hell,” he told him as they walked to the car. “Every morning, every day, I’d think of you all the damn time. What if you were there, what if you got to see this, would you have liked Thandiwe- _you_ constantly in my head. You’ve driven me mad.”

While Maxim laughed at the confession, flattered by the honesty, he could never admit he spent six weeks sulking around. Timur probably knew him well enough to figure it out, though the act of telling him made burning waves of embarrassment run down Maxim’s spine and he let the thought pass by. With the luggage secure in the trunk, they began the journey towards home. 

The roads were slow and conversation could only satisfy so much. 

Veering down a side road as a detour, Maxim pulled the car over where it was remote and safe from oncoming traffic. It was a small parking area by the entrance to a local forest. At these hours, no one would be around and a heavy darkness cloaked them when he turned the engine off. The lights on the stereo provided dim illumination, enough to make out the slightest of features. 

Maxim didn’t waste time. He unbuckled his seatbelt and reached over to clasp his palm over Timur’s thigh as he leaned over to capture his lips into a kiss that was long overdue. The gear stick dug into Maxim’s ribs, but the mild discomfort was no match for pent-up tension inside him that had been cultivating inside him for over a month into a hot concoction of sexual desire and the rawest emotions known to man. 

The zipper of Timur’s hoodie gave a sharp growl as Maxim pried it open to reveal a form-fitting t-shirt underneath. Over the weeks, Timur did lose a little weight from the extensive exercising and tighter diet. The military base didn’t make it convenient to grab a midnight snack. Maxim squeezed his arms and felt the hard muscle, hands moving to creep under the shirt in a teasing manner. He was never tentative, he didn’t have to be coy in Timur’s presence. If anything, the responses Timur returned only demanded Maxim to be unrestrained. 

“I need you,” Timur whispered between their kiss, his breath ghosting over Maxim’s lips. He held Maxim’s cheeks within his palms, cradling the face of the man he longed for with every beat of his heart. He could only press his lips against the scar intercepting Maxim’s mouth so many times, taste the cigarettes on his tongue, the scratch of his trimmed stubble. Timur’s fingers traced along his temples where his hairline grew sharp and tough white hairs glinted. All these minor features he missed so much. “I love you.”

The proclamation of love made Maxim pause for a second. He had been fixated on his lust for the man that he managed to forget the aching loneliness and turmoil he had been wallowing in. Gaze softening, Maxim’s lips twitched into a tender smile. “I love you too,” he returned the statement, not wanting to ruin the moment with a poorly-timed joke. 

A fondness filled Timur’s eyes. They took it to the backseats. 

**Author's Note:**

> My Twitter is [@CompoundZ8](https://twitter.com/CompoundZ8)  
> My Tumblr is [erc-7](https://erc-7.tumblr.com)


End file.
